My Cookie Jar
by LIWY
Summary: This is my catch-all place for shorter pieces that I write. Warnings for some language.
1. Nightmare

Dreams aren't dreams. They are nightmares.  
  
Every evening, he dreads going to sleep. But the moment always comes when there is nothing left to avoid it. He can no longer throw himself into his homework. He is unable to keep patrolling the halls. He cannot stay awake forever.  
  
The dreams are always the same, ever since the Chamber opened. "Enemies of the Heir, Beware!"-the message was announced loudly to everyone. The threat, which he had always believed to be a mere myth, was brought to life in the most vivid way possible. He knows the legends. He was listening in the hallway when the brat was shouting. "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"  
  
He shivered inwardly at the memory. Wasn't he supposed to be the responsible one? Shouldn't he be above such worries? He laughed. There was no way he couldn't worry, he thought to himself. Always his thoughts turned to his friends. Every time another victim was struck, was virtually exiled from the school, he worried, more and more.  
  
And above all, the nightmares came back to the same person. Penny. 


	2. Samples of things to come

**A couple samples of things to come**   
  
****

Notes: I'm not a prolific person, and these are snippets from projects that are in the making. But it's been a while since I've uploaded anything, and I decided that I would upload these previews temporarily. The first one is a portion of a one-shot I've written for a challenge, and the second one is from an AU that should be done within a couple months. They may or may not make that much sense on their own. As always, constructive feedback is desired. 

A Reunion. 

August 7, 1910

A soft wind rustled the leaves on the trees of a London street. There were almost no people visible this particular Sunday afternoon, save for a few children playing with toys on the stoops and verandas of the tall row houses that lined the shady boulevard, and the motorcars that passed by, carrying families going to and from nearby churches and the homes of their relatives. 

One particular child though, a blonde girl of seven, was reluctant to join in the pastimes and games of the others. A flippant, careless glance could never have distinguished her from the rest of the young girls of the neighbourhood-her clothes, her mannerisms; all such aspects of her exterior marked her as no different from anyone else. But no such careless glance could ascertain the truth. The truth was known to her, and known to her family. And a dim reflection of the truth was known by the other girls of that particular city street. 

The Marvolo family were thoroughly enigmatic to their neighbours. In the ten years since they had moved to the elegant house on the corner, they were almost never seen outside. They habitually declined every invitation to participate in social functions. And furious rumours spread about them due to their neglect of church attendance. The daughters of the Marvolos, Lydia, Julia, and Amanda, efficiently added fuel to the speculation about the family. 

That day, Lydia Marvolo had decided to amuse herself outside in the wake of an argument between her mother and father. It was July, and the residents of London were relieved to have a respite from the recent heat wave. Lydia herself was relieved that she could finally begin to spend the time outdoors without attracting attention. She sat on the bench on the stoop in the front of the house, leaning against the banister with a book propped up on her upraised knees. She stayed there for nearly two hours, only slightly shifting a leg or twisting her head in an effort to find a better position. After a while, some small songbirds had begun to gather in the tree over her head. 

At about 11:00, church bells sounded somewhere nearby, and she shut her book and went inside. Her mother was passing through the front hallway. She turned when she caught sight of her daughter. 

"Did I not tell you that you were to stay indoors today?" Catherine Marvolo asked her daughter. "We were wondering where you had run off too." 

Lydia fixed an expression of contrition on her face. "I'm sorry, mother," she said, staring at the woman's face. 

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Our guests will be arriving within the hour. Until then, I want you to be revising your history lessons. I will send for you in an hour's time." 

"Yes, mother," the girl repeated, and with a perfunctory nod, she walked down the hallway to the spiral staircase and up to her room on the fourth storey. 

The uppermost hallway was the brightest in the elegant home of the Marvolo family. It led to a broad landing surrounded by five doors. In the centre was another staircase leading to an open patio on the roof, furnished with various wood benches and tables, and shaded by trellises full of creeping vines of ivy. The doors on the uppermost floor led to the rooms of each of the three girls, as well as a small library and a room outfitted with toys and dolls. 

Lydia struggled to open the thick wooden door to her immediate left. After a minute, she pulled it open, and went in the library. The curtains were drawn, and she went in. She took her history text off one of the bookshelves and took a seat by the fire. 

Not happy to be told to be indoors, she only half-heartedly fingered the pages of the worn heavy tome. It was nearly noon, and the sun was getting brighter. She began to be distracted by rhythmic tick-tock-tick-tock of the clock in the corner, and started staring longingly out of the window onto the street, pulling her knees up on the chair, and leaning over, somewhat morose as she watched various children running through the small alleyway that separated her family home from the neighbours' home. It wasn't that she didn't want to see her cousins and other friends, but it would mean a beautiful afternoon wasted at another social gathering. Even though Alexa and Michelle would be returning from Morocco, it made little difference. 

She sighed and returned to watching the increasing activity on the street below. The minutes ticked away until the door opened. Lydia looked up to see her sister Julia come in. 

"Mother wants you to come downstairs." 

"Now?" Lydia glanced at the clock. "Right. I'll be down in five minutes." 

Julia turned and went back down the stairs. Lydia slid off her seat slowly and followed after her a minute later. When they reached the bottom of the last staircase, their mother was waiting for them. 

"Your aunt and uncle will be arriving within minutes. Your sister is already in the ballroom." She paused and cast an appraising glance at the two girls. "Lydia, why haven't you changed into your robes?" 

"Oh, no," she thought to herself. She kept her face expressionless, however. 

Catherine frowned. "You need to change your clothes. And your face is dirty. Go make yourself presentable and then come down to the ballroom." 

She and Julia walked down the hallway past the family portraits. Lydia stood still for a minute, scowling slightly, before she obeyed and went back upstairs, muttering softly under her breath. On the third floor landing, though, she was interrupted by a voice. 

"What is that you are saying, child?" 

Lydia went quiet immediately and turned to face the portrait of her great-grandmother. "Nothing. Nothing at all." 

The witch grinned broadly and pulled her blue cloak tightly around her. "Come now, girl, we both know that isn't true. Can't you tell me where you're off to?" 

"Mother merely wants me to tidy my appearance," the girl replied. 

The witch's taunting did not cease. "Really? Or are you just making things up? You can tell me the truth, missy." 

The girl turned to head back up the stairs. "I have no time for silly games. Good day, Grandmother Anastasia." The grey-haired witch in the immediately frowned, and started to utter curses under her breath. Lydia shuddered. She would never admit it to her mother and father, but that particular portrait had a tendency to unnerve her. 

She hurried up the rest of the stairs to her room to change her clothes. For about five minutes, she stood in front of the mirror, nervously adjusting her collar, her hair, the sleeves of her robes. She poked and prodded at loose strands of hair poking out from her long plait, and clasps that were slightly out of place. She turned to go, but almost as an afterthought went over to her bureau. Shuffling through the contents of the bottommost drawer, she finally located a blue and silver striped ribbon. Lydia walked back over to the mirror and fastened it awkwardly into a bow at the end of her braid. She turned one way and then the other, examining herself to make sure it was properly in place. "Finally," she thought, and went to join her parents and sisters in greeting their guests. 

Nervous, she pushed open the heavy door and walked through. The soft high notes of a familiar but unnamed tune filled the air. Her father was standing by the door, talking to one of her uncles. He was dressed in his dress robes-mostly a light shade of grey, his preferred colour, but with accents of bright red. He idly twirled a near-empty crystal wine goblet in his left hand as he continued talking to his brother-in-law. 

Lydia started when she felt a tap on the back of her shoulder. She turned around to face her mother. 

'You're late.' She was frowning. 'What took you so long?' She spoke in a soft voice, clearly straining to avoid attention from the guests gathered there. 

'I got distracted by a portrait,' she admitted after a moment. 'Great-grandmother Anastasia was insulting me as usual.' 

'And it was too difficult to simply ignore her? Lydia, I do not wish to hear any such feeble excuses from you in the future. Am I making my meaning clear?" 

She nodded meekly. "I-I apologise. I shan't do it again." 

"See to it that you don't. It's poor manners for family, and poorer manners when we have visitors." 

"I understand, Mother." 

"Good. I suggest you find someone that you can talk to." She walked away, and started talking to a dark-skinned woman Lydia did not recognise. 

Frowning, she glanced around the room. "There's really nothing to do," she thought to herself. 

"What are you doing?" said a cheerful voice from behind her. Lydia nearly jumped, but composed herself instantly. 

"Alexa! You're back!" 

"Correct." The red-headed girl was smiling broadly. "How have you been while we were in Africa?" 

"Fine. I wasn't expecting you back so soon? What about you? What have you and your family been doing on holiday?" 

"Nothing. Mother hated it in Africa. We mostly stayed in an inn. Sometimes I tried to sneak out to see some of the market streets nearby, but Mother and Father caught me the first time. They told Anthony he was to watch me carefully, and he hexed me every time I tried again." 

She grimaced. "That's awful," she thought to herself. Alexa's brother, Anthony Black, was being taught a large amount of curses and hexes by his tutor-and Lydia witnessed him on more than one occasion. His repertoire was larger than the typical Hogwarts first year. 

Alexa had no trouble interpreting the look on her friend's face. "He's extremely strict about following Father's instructions," she remarked. "He really thinks a lot about Father. It's always 'Father said this,' 'Father said that', every single day. It's quite dull. And he has no problem hexing me to keep me following directions." 

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "He's like that?" 

"Of course." 

She leaned slightly against the wall and breathed in deeply. "I'm glad my sisters aren't like that."   
  
**A conversation of sorts**

"Fuck", I shouted, far more forcefully than I had intended to. My cousin hit me across the mouth, somewhat reflexively. She had corralled me out of sight in between the shelves, and started whispering the latest bit of gossip. She hissed at my on my outburst. 

"Keep your voice down-especially if you're going to talk like that." 

I realised my mistake far too late, and started searching for ways to excuse my lapse... 

"Never mind, then," she said, calming down slightly. She took a deep breath. 

I slumped back against the bookshelves, launching a cloud of dust into the air around me. Narcissa covered her mouth to keep from coughing. "You're sure about this?" I ask, turning to face her. 

"Certainly." 

I'm sceptical, though. "How did you hear about this?" 

"From Catherine. And Morgaine. And Patricia," she said, beginning to walk away. "Everyone knows." 

I let a moment pass before looking at her again. "And this is not just another one of your rumours?" 

She smiled. "Take a look at the house points and you will be able to see the damage your dear brother has caused." She left. 

His timing couldn't have been better, I thought-and found myself hoping I would be able to meet him in order to take full advantage of the occasion. 

But not now. Not while I had Quidditch and revising and God knows what else to get done. I looked towards the grandfather clock standing in the shadows on the wall at the end of the stack: 4:42 p.m. "Shit." I grabbed my books and left the library, breaking into a run as I went into the hallway. 


	3. Untitled

**Author's Note:**  
It's been a long time since I've been truly productive, but this short piece nearly wrote itself. It's somewhat AU-nothing in the books contradicts the premise, but nonetheless it's a bit of a stretch. In all probability I'm stretching the mythology involved-but that can probably be fixed.

* * *

The words echoed in my head after Binns dismissed the class. _"The Chamber of Secrets," _

When I came here, two years ago, I had dedicated myself to learning all the secrets possible that there were to learn in this place. A new mystery had now presented itself, and that, too I would solve. 

I made my way to the library, and started reading. Books and tomes, one after the other, failed to yield any hint as to the location or the nature of this mysterious chamber.

* * *

_Nothing_, I thought, _there's truly nothing there._ I leaned back against my bed, my mood growing darker. Four years of searching, and there is nothing there. I had hoped that I would be successful, but that seems that is not to be the case. I must move on. 

My hand idly flipped the page of the tome balanced on my lap. The legend was not real. No other conclusion was possible, though I had hoped that would be the case. The legend was not real-but I was determined to make it so.

* * *

It was ready. Two months to magically build the Chamber itself, another month to weave the spells that would protect it against intruders. Six more to hatch and feed the basilisk to its full length. Then summer came. My plans would have to wait. I made my way down to the Chamber night after night to ensure that my creature would be adequately fed during my absence. At the end of the term, I boarded the train along with all my fellow students. And I waited.

* * *

In September I returned to Hogwarts. It was a mere 25 degrees that day, abnormally chilly for late summer. I didn't mind much. There was so much else to be concerned about. I had hoped to be able to release the basilisk soon after arrival, but that was impossible. It was the beginning of my O.W.L. year, and I was busy with assignments for the first few weeks. By mid-October, though, the level of work had fallen off, and I was beginning to look for opportunities to open the Chamber.

* * *

It took only a day, however, to conclude that I should open the Chamber on Halloween. Best to do the task when there are few prying eyes around. I left the feast at the first chance, and made my way to the entrance. 

I returned many times, for five months, to release the creature. Several students were petrified, and invariably their parents refused to let them return when they left Hogwarts to go home at the end of the year. But my good fortune came to an end. Halfway through March, I made my way to the loo where I hid the entrance. Stepping over to the sink, I spoke the words to open the way to the Chamber and call the basilisk, when someone shrieked behind me. 

"What are you doing in here?" I flinched and cursed under my breath-but this was not the time to lose control. The basilisk was coming toward me, and I stood out of the way. The girl in the stall pushed the door open, and met the eyes of the basilisk. She collapsed, and I stepped over to her still body. I knew she was probably dead, but it was too risky not to make sure. Bending down, I grabbed her wrist and checked for a pulse. Nothing. I breathed a sigh of relief. I ordered the basilisk to return to the Chamber, and then left hastily. Better not to be around when the corpse is discovered.

* * *

I spent two more years at Hogwarts, but did not open the Chamber again. The risk wasn't worth it. Perhaps, though, I would be able to pass the secret along to others-but only time would be able to tell. I stepped on the train at the Hogsmeade station and found a seat for the journey back to London. 


End file.
